FORGIVE ME PAST: The Package

We waited for over five minutes, proving his departure, before we resumed our work. “I swear I’m going to kill Ronnie,” Gerald became the first car-borrower in history to say something after refusing to open up for the car owner who, for a couple of minutes, had been giving a grave sermon infront of the former’s house after him failing to return the latter’s car, in Bwaise… I know that fact sounds immature but I tell you, that was an achievement for us! As for me, I was still at the mercy of my tongue which had forgotten the dance of the ‘talk’ ritual.

“I thank you Gerald for everything you’ve done for me,” my tongue finally remembered the moves, but with the intro of the stating of my ‘final words’ because it was crystal clear we were heading to the dimension where life is only in memories—that is if even memorising is legal. Gerald paused unfolding the black polythene bag and rested his sight onto the wall. “I don’t see how we are going to merge victorious in this predicament. We both know Ronnie isn’t coming back and I think I’m losing myself as well. I feel hopeless. Empty.” I preached. He let the words sink in before replying.

“Indeed it looks like we are in deep shit, and I won’t try to sugarcoat that, but it is never done until it’s done,” he began a counter-sermon of his own. “We still have a lot of glories waiting for us, Kuba, so stop whatever that is you’re trying to do and give me a hand of assistance!” The tone of the statement dramatically metamorphosed from simple to serious. I immediately resumed my work, and so did he after a few seconds. By 1pm, we had finished packing the corpse into the large black polythene bag.

“So, at what time are we going to dump it off?” I inquired.

“Very late in the night, when no body is awake,” he replied, removing a sacket of buns from under his bed. He opened it, picked one, and gave me the remaining two. “We are going to stay in here until nightfall. I don’t think Kisule has left yet. And if by any chance he has, we can’t rule out the possibility of him leaving us an incognito babysitter outside,” he concluded, digging his teeth into the innocent bun. It bled crumbs.

Despite my grade-nine hunger, I wasn’t able to eat the buns. There was no time for that. This is the right time to call Rachael, I thought. I dialled her number for the millionth time but all I reaped was that stupid automated female voice informing me that the person couldn’t be reached at the moment, bla bla bla. My heart skipped a beat. I buried the tiny phone in my grip as tight as I could. Gerald noticed it.

“Who are you trying to call?” he asked, destroying the last half of his bun.

I thought for a second and delivered the most obvious lie in history, “Ronnie, but his phone is off.” I mean, leaving other factors constant, why would I want to raise Ronnie? And becides, he had left his phone but I couldn’t remember that fact at that moment.

“I told you earlier he left his phone here,” Gerald said, picking up Ronnie’s phone from his bed. “And it’s on, if you must know that too.” That was an embarrassing way of telling me he knew I was lying. Before I could construct another lie, he continued, “You think I don’t know about Rachael?” I was now in the palms of his hands. “Stone told us about her, so there’s nothing you’re hiding.” I didn’t want to hear more, so I left it at that without any reply. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked, after getting no response from me.

“Nothing,” I rejoindered. “Her phone is off, that’s all,” I terminated any more distributaries of that topic. We conversed the day away about, or relating to, the situation we were in but the thought of Stone telling Ronnie and Gerald about Rachael still haunted my mind. I had tried my best to hide her existence from these guys until it was quite inevitable to break it to Stone who was always lucky to find several dials to a Rachael in my call log, and later had to play important roles in the success of my visits to her, until I decided to hide the last one from him.

There was more to think about but there wasn’t time left for issues of mere imagination. The day was dying so fast that nightfall arrived sooner than we expected. Gerald had spent the evening sleeping, while I, made a chore out of overthinking. I’d tried Rachael’s number again, time after time, but in vain. I had thought about escaping from Gerald to resume the hunt for Rachael but a second thought won the battle.

“We better get ready, we’ll be leaving in a few minutes,” Gerald announced the moment it clocked midnight. I think he meant psychological readiness because there wasn’t any other preparations to do. Talking about psychological readiness, he was now munching mairungi leaves, with chewing gum, to tease his brain.

“But we both know these people hardly sleep in a clear night as this,” I cautioned, but that wasn’t my intention—I was just diseased with fear and anxiety, and the signs and symptoms were on rampage.

“So you think we are going to walk in their faces informing them what we are going to do? We are going to pass through the empty dark corridors,” he challenged. “And besides, this is Bwaise, where everyone minds their own business. Who will know that we are carrying a dead body?” Indeed there was no way one would find out what we’re about to do. I was just trying to allay my anxiety by receiving satisfying answers for my lame questions.

Our package weighed a thousand tons! We lifted it to the doorway, and that was when we realized we were going to pass through hell carrying it from our ‘mansion’ to the swamp. I don’t know why dead people are so heavy yet death deducts the grams, weighed by their souls, that would have added on some weight—just kidding. Anyway, we struggled with the heavy package through the dark corridors to the swamp that was about 200 metres from our mansion. Luckily, we didn’t encounter any obstacles or delays along the way.

Bwaise swamp is a dumpster. I wish you could have a look at it during day, more so during those times before the authority tried to clear the rubbish and begun constructing it weeks back. Even during the night, like that very one, the plastic water bottles and other kinds of rubbish always have a peaceful cruise, making bay at the arrows of papyrus tearing the swamp surface. It looked like the devil’s home that night! The surface was rough, yet still and peaceful, that one would think it’s a land extension.

A small clear stream managed to wound it’s way between the land and the larger diseased part of the swamp, and it reflected the distant lights from Hotel Grate—Hotel Grate is the biggest recreation center near Bwaise. I wish I could continue talking about that heaven, and how it’s lights bleach the curse of darkness staining the atmosphere of Bwaise, but since I was still narrating about the operation we were on, I’ll go back to that.

A choir of frogs croaked their throats out, perhaps worshipping the god of the night. I still wonder how they manage to cope up with such a stinky dwelling! The stench hovering around Bwaise swamp can make a madman run mad. Well, that’s not news because this is Uganda, the center of freedom—everyone does whatever he/she wishes, even if it means defecating in a swamp (that is if the authority doesn’t get you).

“What are you doing?” I queried Gerald, giving him a quizzical look as he cut open the polythene bag and freed the deadly malodour from Stone’s decaying body. I pinched and blocked my nostrils to save them from such violence.

“So, you thought we were going to throw it in while it’s packaged?” replied Gerald, covering his nose as well, with his left hand. “The idea is his body decomposing and evolving into soil whilst in the swamp, without the fetor attracting the attention of anyone,” he concluded and returned to his work. To be honest, I hadn’t thought about that, but it actually made sense when he explained it to me.

Everything was moving on well until a talkative dog rained on our parade. It started backing as if it was on government payroll! Gerald tried throwing stones at it to scare it away but I think that made the beast even more angrier. This was not good news to us. We had to tie two huge stones on the naked body and pull it chap-chap into the middle of the swamp, in the shortest time, to avoid any uneven outcomes but hardly had we set foot into the muddy waterbody, than a man appeared from nowhere and flashed his blinding-light touch at us and barked, “What the hell are you doing there?” His voice was thunder without rain.